


Killer Fashion

by G_the_G



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy is like the little sister to the Avengers, Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G_the_G/pseuds/G_the_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all the near death and destruction in London, Darcy was kind of surprised at the one major self-discovery that she made. Some might think it would be about her ability to actually adult like a real adult or face-down life and death situations with reasonable calm. But she already had that in the bag from New Mexico and keeping Jane sane through Norway and beyond. Hey, it’s not everyone that is able to stick it to jack-booted government agencies and metal death-bots.</p>
<p>No, her realization was of a sartorial kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tale of Two Tweeds

**Author's Note:**

> *said as Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail* Who would have ever of thought that I would write? 
> 
> But here I am, keeping myself sane with a little fluff piece. I was fiddling around with a bit of a fluid timeline, so it might be a bit weird, but overall this is set post Thor: the Dark World and Age of Ultron doesn't happen. 
> 
> I don't really know where this came from... but I'm incapable of any angst or action, apparently, so here you go. My second fic about Darcy and how she learns to rock her fashion choices as much as she does everything else.

After all the near death and destruction in London, Darcy was kind of surprised at the one major self-discovery that she made. Some might think it would be about her ability to actually adult like a real adult or face-down life and death situations with _reasonable_ calm. But she already had that in the bag from New Mexico and keeping Jane sane through Norway and beyond. Hey, it’s not everyone that is able to stick it to jack-booted government agencies and metal death-bots.

No, her realization was of a sartorial kind. And she felt she was sadly lacking in that department. Now, admittedly, up until this point she had just been an unpaid intern trying to balance comfort and functionality as she chased after Jane in whatever country/climate/social situation they stumbled into.

* * *

 

“Darcy, is that another band t-shirt? Where do you get all these?”

“Eh, I’ve got older brothers and had various metal-head roomies. They left them behind when they went off to wilds unknown, and hey, free clothes!”

“Yeah, but,” Jane trailed off as she leaned closer to read the band name stretched across Darcy’s chest. “Slayer?”

“Hey, it’s not like the stars care about what I’m wearing when I input all their data. And you’re one to talk, Flannel von Flannelstein.” 

* * *

 

But the Brits; oh those Brits—they knew how to dress. It started at the foundation of basic etiquette where people didn’t wear their pajamas in public (no people of Wal-Mart across the pond, thank you very much). Then it went on to how fancy everyone looked in their business clothes while hustling through tube and train stations. Then they knew how to really dress for parties and social gatherings, not like the JC Penny funded prom Darcy had been forced into back in high school. Darcy found herself envious. Her skill set had expanded from feeding Jane pop-tarts and learning the right amount to sass to give her so she didn’t become too stuck in the stars. But her wardrobe, while comfortable, was still mostly comprised of free stuff she’d picked up from other people. And despite how she loved some of her ugly sweaters, her outfits seemed to express more about other people than her—she meant to change that.

So Darcy started rebuilding at her foundation. Bras. Three weeks into their London adventure Darcy had discovered the beauty of a properly fitting brazier. One huge splurge from her miniscule savings and three over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders later, she was totally ready to conquer/save the world. And she did (maybe with a little support from other people and a superhero—and not just her underwire).

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright, love, it definitely looks like you need to go down at least two band sizes and then up I’d say…oh a good three cup sizes,” said the attendant currently eyeing Darcy in nothing but her bra and leggings.

Darcy took a last second to stare at herself in the mirror and told herself this wasn’t weird. She was willing to admit that even though she had needed bras since the age of 10, she apparently still didn’t know how to find the right size. This woman had pulled and prodded and gotten fresher than any guy had gotten in months, but Darcy still didn’t seem quite able to believe her.

“Three cup sizes?!? That would take me to at least a G!”

“Yes, dear. I know. It seems like that will probably be the best option for you. But you’ll have to try it on to see.”

“Huh. Who’da thunk. I feel like I should apologize to my girls for neglecting them so much,” Darcy said looking down at her chest contemplatively while lifting said girls up in her hands.

The sales lady gave her a look that Darcy was quickly becoming used to as she seemed to at least mildly affront half the people she came in contact with because her American brashness. But if it meant she got bras that finally fit her for once, she was totally willing to put up with a bit of condescension.

 

* * *

 

 

The new interest in fashion choices, however, came with growing pains. Mostly one: money. The bras were only the beginning and there was only so far to go as an unpaid intern. She tried, but only seemed to make it as far as looking like a grad student rather than undergrad underling.

Thankfully for Darcy’s bank account, a couple weeks after Thor and Legolas’ distant cousins’ showdown, Darcy found herself invited to move into Avengers Tower.

Within two hours of exiting the elevator, Darcy was thoroughly enjoying the welcome party and somehow became wingman to Tony freaking Stark in Rhodey’s absence. Pepper realized Darcy was exactly who she needed when, the next afternoon, she found Tony actually tucked into his bed with a bottle of water next to him and not cuddled up to the potted plant or participating in Drunk Science! like he did after the last Avengers party. So, she did what any wise business woman would do. She secured Darcy as the new Stark Industries’ Avengers liaison.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ll be spending about 80 percent of your time in the tower working with all the various team members and the other 20 will involve you representing the team at social events and functions.”

“Please don’t tell me I’m going to have attempt to explain Tony to the public.”

“No, no, no. That wouldn’t be fair to you; or anyone, really. We have an entire team trying to keep the team looking good in the press. Actually we have an entire team just for Tony, but that’s another story.”

Pepper paused here and Darcy chose to interpret it as an internal shudder, a sort of PTSD from personally dealing with Tony for all those years.

“Anyway, you will be more a buffer for them at cross-team confabs or charity dinners where they are prone to get into trouble.”

At Darcy’s snort of disbelief Pepper leaned forward and stared at Darcy for a full five seconds before continuing.

“Look, I know it was you that kept Tony from motorizing my dehumidifier to follow me around last week while playing something about gates and shiny and chrome; a feat even I couldn’t accomplish. You can absolutely handle keeping Clint out of the vents at the MET and disuading Natasha from _continuing_ to traumatize Johnny Storm.”

“If you say so, boss.”

“I do. I believe the first step will be in getting you a new work wardrobe.”

“Uh.”

“One that Mr. Stark will be providing, of course.”

“Oh, sweet! That I can totally get behind.” Darcy thought for a moment. “I honestly don’t have any idea of where to start.”

Pepper simply gave her an indulgent smile, pulled out her phone, and began typing.

“Well, then. How about Saturday we do brunch and we can discuss the finer points of a power suit and becoming a true HBIC.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy told herself she was only mildly worried about Pepper trying to turn her into a smaller, curvier mini-me. She far more suspected that the immaculate woman just liked having an excuse to shop. Yet, she wasn’t so sure about having to wear a suit at any time or formal evening wear. Her current wardrobe seemed to suffer at her own capability of food spillage, not to mention outside dangers from the tower (she was tempted to always wear coveralls to Tony’s lab after her favorite grandpa sweater was ruined on her first visit to his lair); however, she wasn’t about to bite the hand that fed, well clothed, her.

She had plans.


	2. Who's Afraid of Virginia Wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy loves it when a plan comes together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Chapter 2! 
> 
> Who knew writing was so much fun?

Darcy quickly settled in as Avengers liaison. Her first step was making sure Jane’s new minions could handle the scientist. Ensuring the Science! grunts could provide an acceptable work environment for her friend required delivering a ten-page manual and a two-hour seminar on proper persuasion techniques, preferred foods, and recommended sleep cycles for Jane. She’d still pop in from time to time, but overall Darcy's time was spent wandering around the tower and tracking down whatever Avengers were in-house to get sit reps and make sure none were angsting away their time, destroying too much property, or hassling the medical staff when laid up.

Jane didn't notice what was going on with Darcy’s wardrobe now that the former intern wasn’t sassing her away from Science! as often. They still got together for tequila and girls nights, but those were strictly lounge-wear only. So it went unnoticed when the questionable shirts that had previously garnered disapproval were phased out for more flattering tops and sweaters. How leggings, while comfortable, were more often switched for classic, dark jeans or even some skirts. The changes weren’t huge, but Darcy felt like her self-expression was growing piece by piece. Jane did notice the increased snark, but Darcy claimed that was just another aspect of her self-expression that increased when she became a badass living in Avengers tower.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Thor. I’ve been meaning to ask you, what was with that dress that Jane got in Asgard?”

“I do not understand what you mean, Lady Darcy?”

“Okay, seriously. It had one boob of armor. Not the most comfortable or practical in my opinion. Do you guys only get attacked on one side or something there?”

“Ah, I see. In Asgard attire is adorned with items of armor to signal that the wearer is a warrior in their own right, not for actual battle.”

“Do women always have to wear something with armor then? Just to prove they can kick butt?

“Nay. As you know, the Lady Sif does not always wear armor. The tradition is of a rather antiquated nature and used for more formal situations.”

“Like when the royal Prince’s girl comes to visit?” Darcy wheedled.

“Indeed.”

“So Jane having that piece on her dress was a big honor and I shouldn’t make fun of her for being lopsided?”

Thor smiled and dipped his head in a nod.

“Huh. Interesting.”

“To be sure, my shield sister, though you do not wear armor of the obvious kind, I will be the first to proclaim your ability to, as you say, ‘kick butt’.”

 

* * *

  

During weekly ‘working’ lunches, Pepper introduces Darcy to the privileges of expensive shoes and unlimited lines of Stark credit like they’re a right. The red-headed angel then explains the art of getting quality pieces that will last and are versatile. While Darcy still sticks to serious boots and sturdier materials when around any of the Science! Trio, her closet has begun to expand with wisps of varied fabric and layers of textures. Suddenly there’s a pair of peep-toe Jimmy Choos next to her old Doc Martens, lacy camisoles next to her favored grandpa sweaters, and legit pantyhose and seamed stockings next to her fleece tights.

Stark of course funds this entire expedition into the world of non-college-coed fashion—be it through Darcy’s actual salary or surprise shopping trips with Pepper and her black card.

 

* * *

 

 “So should I just start playing chick-flick montage music whenever you walk into the room?”

“What are you talking about, Stark?”

“Maybe ‘Barbie Girl’ or just the entire soundtrack form Clueless. That whole movie is a makeover montage.”

“Tony, are you saying you want to give me a makeover?”

“Don’t make me put you in Time Out with Dum-E.”

Darcy heard a beep and turned to see the robot in the corner, dejection personified with its claw drooping to the ground.

“You know what you did!” Tony called over to it. Looking back at Darcy he began to tap a finger at his manscaped face. “You’ve already been getting a makeover.”

“So, you noticed?” she asked cautiously turning back to him.

“I notice things!”

“Yeah, like last week when you noticed it was U in a wig that you’d been whining at for a solid ten minutes after I left.”

“That was an outlier. Besides, it made U feel special.”

“Uh huh. Remind me to show Natasha that clip so she can work on your observation skills in training.”

“Whatever. I notice things.” He lowered his hand from his chin and began to examine her from head to toe. “You look good, kid. I know it’s not all Pepper’s influence, but the changes seem more you.”

Darcy shifted and sat on the stool behind her for something to do.  She and Tony had their weird blatant flirty-banter-filled bro-ship, but this was a bit more serious than she was expecting.

So she sassed him.

“Tony Stark. You gooey fashionista marshmallow you.”

“Whatever, Betty. Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he said as he turned back to the LED display behind him.

“Boop or Page?”

He looked at her over his shoulder with his usual salacious grin. “Well, since the first is actually known for wearing clothes, let’s go with her. You know, unless you wanted to channel the latter right now.”

 

* * *

 

Three months into her role as liaison Darcy realized the various Avengers had come to be her friends more than errant wards she tried to keep alive. Admittedly, she had a head-start with Thor and Tony as her bros; but even she hadn’t expected to transition so smoothly into the lives of the more dangerous residents. Bruce seemed to want to get along with anyone, perhaps to compensate for the whole angry,angry caterpillar alter-ego. Steve and Sam were in and out on their hunt for Bucky, but whenever she knew they’d be in town she made sure to bake their favorite cookies. It only took two cookie welcomes for them to always greet her with a bear hug and kiss to the cheek.

Clint, was easy to win over. During her first week in the tower she challenged him to a paper football competition. The archer, cocky little shit that he was, refused at first, claiming he didn’t want to embarrass her when she was so new. But growing up with three brothers and a very competitive father had made her no chump. After a heated battle, a bottle of cheap-ass vodka, and many creative and multi-lingual insults and epithets, Clint was declared victor with thirty-one touchdowns to her twenty-five.

Natasha had been tricky for a couple of months. They communicated, but Darcy never felt like they had clicked. Not until she leaned over the back of the couch to ask the spy just how many stunts she could do like the competitors on American Ninja Warrior. After a couple of days of planning, Natasha decided to demonstrate. Turns out it was all the stunts. All. Of. Them. Afterwards, Natasha was always full of commentary on bad form or poor timing when they watched the show together. 

Excluding the few lab explosions, middle-of-the-night catch-ups with Clint through the vents, and learning to never, ever mention Pierce Brosnan in Natasha's presence, Darcy felt settled in no time. And considering how nothing in her life had been normal after New Mexico, she shouldn’t have been surprised that one random day it was Clint who showed her what she could do with her face beyond mascara and chaptsick.

 

* * *

 

“Hottest op?”

“Literal or figurative?” Clint asks with a ridiculous waggle of his brows.

“Dude, no. I’m always just gonna assume anything along those lines refers to something with Nat because she’s a goddess among us mere mortals. I don’t want her killing me for asking about her sex life; therefore, literal.”

“Fine. Arizona.”

“WHAT? Not Africa? Or somewhere, like, I don’t know, the Middle East? And don't tell me you haven't been there! I saw the mission reports from last month.”

“Darce, you know I can’t tell you about those, so there’s no need to be all shouty."

"Humph."

"But seriously, whoever says a ‘dry heat’ isn’t that bad can suck it.”

Darcy turned back to painting her toes, feet up on the table in front of her, but stilled when a thought bubbled up.

“So wait, what were you doing in Arizona then?”

There was a slight pause before his quiet “classified”, but Darcy knew his tells.

“Nuh uh. There’s a story here and I know you’re lying.”

Clint tried to ignore her and go back to watching the TV on mute. It didn't work. Darcy scooted closer on the couch until she could rest her elbows on his knee and stare up at him with her chin in her hands, blinking expectantly.

He sighed and let his head fall back to the cushions behind him, so he missed Darcy's gloating smile. 

“Make-up artist.”

“What?”

“I had to get close to a target and the best cover was as their make-up artist. I still don't know why they chose to hide in the hell that is Arizona.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Clint lifted his head from the couch and looked her square in the eye.

“It’s all about framing the face, Darce.”

 

* * *

  

By the time she left London Darcy had naturally gravitated away from her old wolf and band t-shirts. Partly because so many got lost in the sudden moves to and from Tromso; then because she was introduced to the beauty of European stores and cheap, cheap clothing items. Not to mention the need to layer because apparently London was way more humid than New Mexico, and that made it freaking cold. Darcy liked to think she got wicked good at finding the perfect chunky scarves and awesome hats that made it so she didn’t have to actually even try to do her hair. See humidity.

But it’s Natasha who finally introduces the concept of accessorizing for an overall tone or impression. Darcy thinks it has to do with the Russian’s inability to go deep undercover after the SHIELD implosion and the resulting boredom from not being able to plan minute cover details anymore. But hey, Natasha had great insight on how to be simple, yet striking, and still have a minimum of three weapons hidden on your body at one time.

  

* * *

 

“Tasha, please, please. I’m asking you to go easy on Storm tomorrow.”

The redhead had been digging into a package that was just delivered but stopped to send a look of mild curiosity at Darcy.

“You can still have full use of your diabolical eyebrows, but just, no murder stares. Please!”

One eyebrow twitched minimally in response.

“I know, I know. The asshat singed your new favorite catsuit right when you just got the leather perfectly broken in, but please, please, please! Just this one time, then you can continue to torture him with crazy eyes all you want.”

“I need a valid justification.”

“Well. Okay. I may or may not have convinced Johnny to switch out Richards’ stretchy clothes with special tear-away costume ones. Tomorrow, I need Johnny to be able to concentrate and get Reed in the right spot. When the usual fight breaks out between everyone in the conference room and Head Tool No. 1 goes all Gumby on us, I will be ready with my camera.”

Natasha didn't say anything as she went back to pulling out some sort of leather strap from the box in front of her. But she had a slight lift to the corner of her mouth that made Darcy hopeful. Suddenly the leather strap landed in the brunette’s lap and she stared at it questioningly.

“Uh, Tasha?”

“It’s a thigh holster. Rather comfortable under a skirt.”

“I don’t carry a gun.”

“I know.”

Darcy picked up the holster to look more closely at it.

“Wait. This is for my taser!”

“Yes. And be sure Jarvis is recording tomorrow as well.”

 

* * *

 

In addition to advice on pairing power suits with the right shoe and not taking no crap from no man or woman, Darcy found herself forever grateful to Pepper for introducing her to Agnes: Pepper’s own personal tailor.  Agnes, magician that she was, had originally trained as a seamstress and costume designer for the opera, but wound up as the tailor du jour among New York society waifs before Pepper secreted her away for her own wardrobe’s benefit. After their first meeting, Darcy became a sort of guinea pig as Agnes was once again able to creatively drape, tuck, and pleat her way around curves. Darcy swore she saw stars in the other woman's eyes when she realized she could mix and match fabrics that would never work for Pepper’s streamlined style. 

Not only was Darcy ecstatic to finally have button-up shirts that fit her boobs, she was excited at the suggested fixes and all-out new creations that Agnes would whip up. Particularly after Bruce had shown Darcy traditional clothing from the various countries he’d run away to and the bright colors and textures seemed to follow her into her dreams. While she doubted she could pull off a sari, she found herself willing to stray more and more from her former neutral palette.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh. What is this stuff? I just got it all over my hands.”

“That would be turmeric.”

“Bruce? Should I be worried that you’re putting dye into what we’re about to eat.”

Darcy continued to stare down at the ugly yellowish tint on her hands that wasn’t wiping off with the dish towel.

Bruce chuckled from where he was stirring food at the stove.

“Darce, while yes, turmeric was traditionally used as a dye and can be still used as such, it is fantastic in curry. Trust me.”

“Whatever you say, doc. Just  how long are my hands gonna look like Winnie the Pooh’s?”

 

* * *

 

Eight months after Darcy moved into the tower Steve and Sam returned once again; this time with one formerly brainwashed assassin in tow. It’s the first cookie welcome that leaves Darcy without a proper greeting from Steve since the tradition had started.

A week later, Darcy, unable to sleep, walks in on a stare-down between Bucky and Steve in the kitchen. A silent stare-down that lasted the entire time she stood at the counter watching them as she ate ice cream from the carton. The awkwardness didn't take long to make her regret some major life-decisions: including, but not limited to, the decisions that brought her to be standing in a kitchen with a scroungy former assassin, an American icon, and her in her Sailor Moon pajamas.  

The next day Darcy brought Steve a new sketchbook and told him to draw—the kitchen brood-off proved that words hadn’t worked, but maybe pictures would. So Steve drew.  He drew pictures of New York as it had been: Coney Island, Brooklyn, their old neighborhood. He drew Bucky as a kid, as a sergeant, as a Howling Commando. He also drew himself: skinny Steve, performing monkey Steve, Captain America Steve.

Steve gave most of the pictures to Bucky to look at when he wanted, but when he drew a picture of the USO girls Darcy asked him to draw all the different women as best as he could remember. The history books always talked about the Howling Commandos and soldiers Captain America served with, but never the women he had originally spent so much time with. Darcy was always curious about them; who they were as individuals, not a troupe. What made them willing to go into an active war zone with nothing but skimpy patriotic outfits and a killer dance medley. As Steve drew more and more, Darcy noted that in all the pictures the hairstyles were the biggest details Steve remembered. She felt her fingers twitch as she looked at them, wanting to recreate them; to try and become a little part of history herself.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, Darce. You look great!”

“Thanks, Steve!”

Darcy turned back from fixing a couple errant strands in the mirror and saw Steve looking somewhere just past her shoulder. When he stayed like that Darcy started to fidget.

“Uh, Steve. You okay there?”

He shook himself and smiled at her apologetically. “Sorry, I just…I remember Peggy with that hairstyle. It was before Erskine and everything...else. I just sat there like some dope thinking she was the most beautiful and terrifying creature I’d ever seen.”

“Of course she was. She was a BAMF like no other and would totally have rocked this hairstyle. And let’s not forget the shoes. I’ve seen old photos. Girl knew how to dress for success!”

“That she did, Darce. That she did.”

“I bet she could totally run and kick major Hydra butt in those heels. Claire Dearing’s got nothing on Peggy Carter.”

Steve gave her a bemused smile but he looked firmly back in the present, so she called it a win.

 

* * *

 

Once the hunt for Bucky was over, Darcy figured Sam needed to become more familiar with the rest of the team. As it was, he spent most of his time at the VA hospital or training with Steve or Natasha  and Tony’s threesome jokes were getting old. Darcy had certainly learned a few new ways to refer to the old ménage e trios, but she figured it’d be safer for Stark if his interest in Natasha’s sex life didn’t make its way back to the lethal redhead (Plus there was totally a bet going on when Tony would realize that Clintasha was a thing. Darcy was going to win, so help her Thor). To keep Tony distracted, Darcy planned as she did best and one movie night turned into an impromptu ‘Get to Know Sam Night’. Questions had secretly been gathered from all the team members with the help of Jarvis and, after a vote, Sam was only allowed three 'passes' for the evening. The team learned a heck of a lot and Darcy would never regret causing Sam so much embarrassment. Definitely not when she found out the little old ladies he’d been forced to dance with at church functions had taught him some of the old steps. Within a week she convinced him to teach her everything he knew so that she could properly show off the dresses she’d just ordered online.

 

* * *

 

“What are you watching?”

“The Lady Vanishes.”

“Oh! Darcy, it’s you,” Sam comments coming into the room. “I figured it’d be one of the nonagenarians.”

“Dude, just because it’s an old movie doesn’t mean it’d be Steve or Bucky watching it. First of all, it’s British. Second of all, I know for a fact that Steve would rather watch Golden Girls and Bucky has a secret love for Korean dramas.”

“Okay, the fact that you know the weird stuff they watch is creepy. Is this any good?” Sam asks plopping on the couch next to her.

“I’m not going to dignify that first statement with a response. And for the second, it’s classic Hitchcock. Of course it’s good! Not to mention the costumes. Just look at those beautiful costumes.”

“Really? Tweed?” 

“Hey, I’m all about a good skirt suit. Hasn’t Pepper told you? My power suit game is on fleek.”

“I know the words coming out of your mouth are supposed to be English, but that made no sense whatsoever.”

“Shut up. Watch the movie. We’re about to get to the intrigue.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy’s family always thought she had too little in the self-preservation skills department. If she hadn’t been bound by enough NDAs to shut up Wade Wilson, she’d have argued that New Mexico demonstrated she knew how to stay alive just fine, thank you. Despite all her badassery, though, she knew she wasn’t as afraid of Bucky as she probably should be.  The fact that every gorgeous inch of him was deadly like Natasha (and she wasn’t going to think too deeply about that fascination) should have given her pause. But Darcy just couldn’t bring herself to feel much anxiety over a guy who was willing to distract an American icon for her pranks, no questions asked. Plus, no one caught drift that Bucky caught her in full ninja gear switching Clint’s exploding arrow tips with glitter bombs before an Avengers charity exhibition. Discretion was always an attractive quality in a man; especially when it kept herself entertained and Hawkeye feeling fabulous.

 

* * *

 

“Dishonor! Dishonor on your family! Dishonor on your cow!”

“What are you on about, doll?”

“I knew it wasn’t Steve eating my Golden Grahams. It was YOU!!”

Bucky looked down to the incriminating bowl in front of him, swallowed, and looked back up to meet her eye.

And then he licked his lips. And smiled.

“Have I told you yet today how flattering that color is on you?”

Darcy coughed to try and cover the squeak that had escaped. Clearly he was getting his groove back. She shook her head to cover her twitterpation and took a deep breath.

“I like your style Mr. Barnes, but flattery will not save you from your disgrace.”

“Darce, it’s just some cereal. I’ll get you some more.”

“ _Just cereal_? Have you no respect for all that is sacrosanct and, more importantly, mine?”

“How about I steal some of Clint’s chocolate stash for you? You know, that hazelnut stuff you like so much. Will that make it better?”

Darcy sniffed.

“Only if you get milk chocolate with the whole hazelnuts in every square. A girl’s gotta have her standards.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy started to forget any hint of the ‘you could probably kill me with one scowl’ aspect of Bucky. Though, it wasn’t like it had ever held her back in the first place. As he started to talk more and spend more time in common areas, she found she was playing her own game of ‘Get to Know James Buchanan Barnes’. What he liked. What he didn’t like. Who he got along with. Where his hideaways were. What he thought was funny. In fact, Darcy took it as a matter of pride that he found her the most amusing (not surprising as she was hee-larious). She even had empirical evidence: she had Jarvis keep a tally of who or what made the scruffy, recovering angst-ball laugh.

Now that her wardrobe plans had come to fruition she had too much time on her hands. And maybe having an omnipresent AI stalk a guy to see what amused him was a sign she had begun to notice _things_ ; things that had nothing to do with being the Avengers liaison or making Bucky’s transition into the tower easier. Like how he always grabbed three cookies at a time: two to eat, one to stash away. How he would tilt his head to the right whenever he was sassing her and wanted her to return the favor. How his shirts stretched across his shoulders when reached for cups in the kitchen. How he always had to touch her super-soft cardigan when she wore it. How when she discovered that habit she almost wore it every single day for a week; only her fear of wearing out her favorite cardigan, his reaction, or both kept her from throwing all sartorial caution to the wind. How his eyes changed from blue to gray and back depending on what he was wearing. How she found herself looking to see what color his eyes were every day as his wardrobe started evolving as much as hers had. 

Darcy definitely noticed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry guys. Bucky is totally next. I won't leave him in his scroungey ways. It might take me a couple of days, but his time will come.


	3. Slaughterhouse Fleece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say the clothes make the man. In this case, the clothes make the asset a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I'm sorry. The research got me. And then Bucky wouldn't cooperate. So....here's some more angst than I was expecting. And some feels. Prepare for some feels. But to make up for it, here, have some Bucky!
> 
>  
> 
>  

Contrary to popular thought, the Winter Soldier wasn’t a different person than James Buchanan Barnes: they were one in the same. The man known as Bucky was intelligent, driven, and relentless in what he wanted—be it protecting one dumb-ass Steve Rogers in back alleys or chasing a pretty dame. Sergeant Barnes was a good soldier; able to take orders and willing to do what needed to be done—whatever needed to be done. As a result, when HYDRA and the Red Room took away the morals of Bucky and the loyalty of the Sergeant, all that was left was training, skills and unrelenting drive—ruthless potential.

 

* * *

 

“James Buchanan Barnes, what is this?” Bucky went to the kitchen and found his mother holding one of his shirts, one cuff lifted accusingly.

“Don’t worry, Ma. It’s just some sauce. I’ll try and be more careful next time I eat.”

“No. Don’t you lie to me. I did not raise my son to lie and I know blood when I see it.”

“Ma…”

“You’ve been fighting again.”

“I didn’t start it, I swear.”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me. It was Steve,” his mother said lowering the shirt.

“No, he didn’t start—“

“He might not have started it but he got himself involved; and you did what you had to do. As always.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Ma.”

“I’m not… I’m just worried."She sighed and looked at the cuff she held. "One of these days you boys are going to get into a fight you won’t get out of.”

There was a sadness on her face Bucky didn't like.

“Now, Ma. Really. You have so little faith in me?” he teased with a grin.

His mother looked up.

“Don’t you try and charm me, boy. I know that look well enough between you and your father,” she said shaking her head. She turned back to the kitchen sink to try and salvage the cuff.

Bucky paused for only a moment.

“I’m not trying to charm anyone. I’m just excited. I decided I’m going to take my girl out dancing tonight.”

“Oh, and who is that this week?” his mother scoffed.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her, she tried to bat his hands away, but he pulled her in for a squeeze and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Come on, Ma. You know you’ll always be my best girl. So come on, go put on something nice, I’ll leave a note for Pop.”

“Bucky—“

“Nope. We’re going out. You go change, I’ll take care of my shirt”

His mother chuckled resignedly and released the shirt.

“Fine. But you’re taking me out for ice cream after.”

 

* * *

 

When the HYDRA Insight helicarriers sank and memories proved deceitful, the asset fell back to instincts and training.

Deflect attention. A soldier in tactical gear with one broken arm and another of metal would be memorable. It wasn’t difficult to find a sweatshirt to squeeze into from a nearby vehicle.

Report. There was no base to go to. The handler would be buried in rubble. The asset went to the last location he could allocate to the handler.

The handler wouldn’t have information in his personal residence. But there would be supplies. The asset raided the house for food, money, and a laptop. In a spare bedroom were usable clothes.

A selection of hats on a shelf caught the asset's attention. The shape of one was familiar but he was unable to attribute meaning to it.

 

* * *

 

“Dammit Barnes, can’t you ever have your helmet on straight? There ain’t no women out in this mud to impress,” Dugan groused as the team squatted down in a ditch. They'd been waiting for base to radio them with orders to retreat or attack for two hours and were getting antsy.

“Stop your yapping, Dum Dum. You’d run around looking like an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog if you could,” Barnes called back from the other side of their makeshift hideaway.

“Hey, no need to bust my chops for having a sensible taste in style.”

“Really? You think you have style? Wanna back me up here, Falsworth," Barnes said turning to the Brit beside him.

“I don’t believe I’m the best source for comment here, gentlemen.”

“Don’t you pommy bastards always have an opinion on things you consider to be a 'matter of class'?” chimed in Morita from somewhere farther down.

“Precisely; and as I see it, there is no class involved here.”

“HEY!” both Dugan and Barnes objected.

 

* * *

 

The asset broke into an empty house. No one would be able to hunt for him yet.

 

He slept.

 

* * *

 

18 hours later he awoke to impressions of snow and a feeling of ice in his body. He does not want to risk detection, but is unable to get answers without going in public. He assembles clothes and assesses his appearance. There was no remaining blood or injuries visible from the day before and it wasn’t a face he remembers. 

He felt his left arm whirr through settings as he tried to avoid reacting to the press of people, metal hand clenched in his coat pocket. The museum was busy. His right arm still hurt but the pain helped him focus. He pulled his lat lower with his aching arm, tucked his flesh hand back into his other pocket, and continued through to the exhibit.

He recognized a face. It was similar to the one he saw in the mirror that morning. But it was younger, cleaner and below it he could make out a collar of a uniform. The illustration behind him made the coat look black but it wasn’t. He knew it was blue.

 

* * *

 

"Your new uniform isn’t some kind of statement is it?” Dum Dum asked as he sat down next to Bucky at the bar.

“What are you on about now?”

“You know. That you’re following Captain America: hitching your car to his engine, not the army’s.”

“You really think I’m that poetic?"

Before Dum Dum could respond the bartender set a tankard of beer in front of him. The strongman took a big gulp and set his drink back down, leaving flecks of foam in his mustache.

“I guess it could just be you always liked to be all dolled up even when there weren’t any—“

“Dugan, I swear—“

“All right, all right. I was just saying.”

“Well, stop staying, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Both men looked down at their drinks silently for a moment before Dum Dum glanced back at Bucky with a grin.

“I guess this way I’ll always be able to tell your dumb-ass apart from the other goons when I need to save it.”

 

* * *

 

The SHIELD files that were made public provided a lot of information about James Buchanan Barnes. Field reports, medical records, and correspondence saved after his disappearance were all made available for anyone to look at. Each document made the name Bucky seem like an honorable title, something to live up to.

The files from HYDRA provided gloating accounts about what the Winter Soldier had been used for. The missions he had completed and how they would benefit their ‘glorious purpose’. But there were no answers about how James Buchanan Barnes had become that tool, just a date of when HYDRA had ‘obtained’ the asset and a list of facilities he’d been in.

One week after the Triskellion fell, a man who wanted to think of himself as Bucky, but wasn’t yet ready to, boarded a cargo ship for Russia.

He wanted answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will definitely be happier! And now because of this there's an extra chapter and more symmetry to the story line. I'm all about symmetry.
> 
> Also, fun fact, Abecrombie and Fitch has been around since the early 1890s and totally used to cater to all the sporty and hunting types. Check it out!
> 
> http://www.encyclopedia.com/topic/Abercrombie__Fitch_Co.aspx


	4. Of Modal and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Bucky or not to Bucky. That is the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are. The penultimate chapter. Well, unless Bucky and his dang plotbunnies strike again. This chapter was way fun, and I now know way more about WWII army uniforms than I needed or ever expected to. Enough to spot anachronisms in the first Captain America. This fills me with nerdy glee. Anywho, hope you enjoy!
> 
> I have a habit of going through and re-editing my stuff over and over when I'm stuck on new material. Just did that with this. Remind me not to edit and post at 5 in the morning after not sleeping.

He spent three months going to every base that had been listed in his files. Then he spent another two months tracking down the bases that weren’t listed. All the while, memories came back to him. Each day a scent, sound, sight, or feeling dragged up an image that he hadn’t remembered before; he still needed more. 

In early September he found a small base near the Alps; now more storage facility than base. HYDRA never let go of anything that might give them leverage, so he wasn’t surprised when he found the box. The personal effects of one James Buchanan Barnes; complete with old bloody uniform and dog tags. During his first capture and experimentation by Zola, Bucky had fought to keep his tags; after two henchmen wound up dead, his captors figured it was easier to leave him with them than try to take them again.

He now slipped his tags over his head and the weight settled on his sternum, a comforting and familiar heaviness. It was time to stop searching and wait. He had blown up every single base he went to before this, so the man from the helicarrier would only be a few hours behind.

No, Steve. Steve would be there soon.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, should we call you Bucky like Steve does or do you prefer something else.”

He looked down at the woman in front of him. He couldn’t remember her name and training impelled him to stay silent. It didn’t take long before she got tired of waiting for an answer.

“Better choose fast or forever be known as Scowly O’Grungekin.”

“Darcy, you can’t say stuff like that to him,” hissed the small woman who had been introduced as Jane. She had followed Darcy over with a nervous look and now looked ready to flee at any provocation.

The curvy brunette rolled her eyes and turned to the nervous scientist next to her.

“What? He’s used to people always trying to kill him. I doubt one harsh but accurate description is going to send him into a murder spree.” She turned back to face him. “Right?”

Natasha and Clint had blatantly kept him in their sight-line all evening and now angled their hands towards weapons he knew they had hidden away.

He slowly reached up with his flesh hand and touched his tags through his borrowed shirt.

“Bucky,” his voice came out gruff. “I want to be Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first couple weeks were extremely overwrought between Bucky and Steve. Words had never failed him before, but Bucky couldn’t find the right way to tell Steve what was going on. That he was impatient for his memories to come back, but at the same time he didn’t want them. Because the nightmares that kept him up were from long before the Winter Soldier—everything he had lost and everything he had done when it was only him to be held accountable. Or worse, the fear that those weren’t really his memories, but more HYDRA lies. Some days it was easier to revert to instincts rather than deal with the memories and try to figure out what was his and what wasn’t.

He knows Darcy made Steve back off at the beginning—it had probably saved a few broken bones. It didn’t, however, prevent days when he wanted to hate Darcy. She made him think; made him remember and be part of the present. She asked questions. They were usually accompanied with a smile and a flirty taunt or joke, but there were so many damn questions. Did he like this? Did he like that? What was he up to? Did he want to do anything? What did he need? What did he want?

She forced him to follow through with his decision to be Bucky again.

 

* * *

 

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

“No. Really. What’s your favorite color. And you have to give me a real reason.”

“Black. “

“Fine. Reason?”

“It’s practical and hides a lot when worn.”

“Come on, dude. One last chance.” Darcy rested her elbows on the dining table where she sat across from him, making sure to catch Bucky’s eye. “What’s your favorite color?”

Bucky suddenly recalls medium-blue twill and the scent of cinnamon and flour. He looks down at his hands. “Blue.”

“Okay, why? And don’t tell me it’s because it’s the main color scheme for Captain America.”

“My favorite suit used to be blue. My ma always told me it made me look like my pop; that it made my eyes shine.”

Darcy felt bad for her quip at Bucky and rested her hand on top of his. When he simply looked at her hand on top of his, she leaned forward until he looked at her once more.

“Now that is a good reason. I’ll have to see you in this shade of blue. See if it becomes my new favorite too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky slowly started to spend more time in common areas and getting to know other members of the team. Interactions started tense, but everyone breathed easier after a movie night when what they feared most happened and no one died. Tony, of course, blew up the blender trying to soup it up for ‘epic’ milkshakes before they started the film. When the smoke cleared everyone stared at Bucky expecting knives or bullets to start flying. Instead he stood there and grinned like a loon, runny ice cream down his chest, as he remembered seeing so many experiments blow up in Howard’s face.

Tony dutifully offered to replace the ruined shirt but Bucky explained he didn’t really care because it was a Steve cast-off. Stark used the opportunity to declare it was god-awful, but he didn’t want to risk his life before by telling the former assassin, and Bucky should never wear anything like that again. The billionaire proceeded to offer funding for an entire new wardrobe, selected and paid for by him. Bucky didn’t take him up on the offer, having seen some of the red suits Tony had.

 

* * *

  

“So, how exactly does a mostly-brainwashed assassin go about the European countryside hiding the fact that he’s got a metal arm?” Tony muses as he looks over a schematic of the metal arm.

“Clothes.”

“Clearly, a naked mostly-brainwashed assassin would draw even more attention, metal arm or not.” Tony paused to make some changes on the display in front of him. “Did you just go up to random people and say ‘Your clothes, give them to me now!’?”

Bucky glanced at the man in front of him, with a crease between his brows. At his silence Stark turned to look at him.

“Seriously? You’ve been broken-fixed for like six months now! How have you not seen Terminator yet?”

Bucky determined it best to remain silent.

“Ugh, fine, just make sure Darcy puts it on the list for the next movie night.”

The inventor turned back to tinkering with the plans in front of him, unaware of how his dismissal resembled several his father had given Bucky.

“Stark, I know I don’t remember everything, but your parents—“

“Nope, I’m stopping you there, Furiosa. As far as I know my parents were in an accident that HYDRA had their hands in.” Stark looked down at the lab table in front of him and sighed; then turned around to face Bucky with crossed arms. “Now that I think about it, that description pretty much sums up you for the last few decades. So, we’re not going to give my very expensive therapist more fodder and you’re not going to go all righteous guilt-trip on me, no matter how much time you spend with Cap.”

Both men stood silently until Bucky slowly nodded.

“Right. Show me the changes were you want to make on my arm.”

 

* * *

 

It took six weeks before Bucky started to think about getting his own clothes. He remembered the pride he put in his wardrobe before but modern clothes left him perplexed. They were softer and less scratchy, but tighter than he ever remembered wearing. The weather had yet to get really cold and there was less reason to wear layers like he would with his old wool suits but he felt vulnerable and exposed without the extra fabric covering him.

Bucky had taken to meditating with Bruce as the quiet helped him get rid of all the memories for a time so he was ready to face them later. One morning Bruce noticed the former assassin fidgeting and revealing more discomfort than he ever expected from a trained operative. Bruce, unlike Tony, knew how to make helpful hints and offered some suggestions that multiple Tower residents thought necessary.

 

* * *

 

“You might feel more comfortable if you actually got your own clothes instead of borrowing Steve’s.”

“Yeah, doc? Why’s that?”

“For me at least, it’s easier to feel like me and keep the other guy at bay if I’m wearing something I'm comfortable in.”

“You worried I’ll snap because my tag’s rubbing, Bruce?” Bucky teased with a grin.

The doctor heard the teasing tone and sighed.

“I’m just offering to show you some basic options that would be a good place to start. You are doing the whole ‘reclaim who you were’ and I’ve done that before. This might help.”

Bucky hummed to show he was listening, but didn’t respond further.

“Also, while some people enjoy the Dorito aesthetic it doesn't really seem like you,” the doctor chuckled.

“You sound like Darcy, now.”

Bruce grinned in return.

“Who do you think introduced me to tumblr?”

 

* * *

 

Steve was right about the food being a lot better now. So Bucky started figuring out what he liked, what he didn’t, what he could cook, what he could talk others into cooking. Being able to pick out his meals, cook his food, do his dishes gave him a sense of independence he wasn’t sure how he’d get otherwise.

Food was just the first step. Some people might have thought of daily chores as being boring or just that, chores. But Bucky’s life had been determined by money restraints during the depression and then the war. His entire time as the Winter Soldier was a cycle of everything being taken from him. So, Bucky enjoyed the fact that he suddenly had books to put on shelves, knick knacks to find places for, and clothes to wash. He could figure out the first two on his own, but the latter turned into an afternoon-long lesson with Steve that took some follow-up charts and graphs.

 

* * *

  

“Bucky, did you leave a shirt in the dryer?”

Steve held up the mystery garment. It was purple and Bucky tried to identify it until he saw the Otter Pops logo on the front and knew it wasn’t meant for him.

Steve looked over at Bucky’s snort of amusement and narrowed his eyes.

“It wasn’t me."

Steve continued to glare at Bucky unbelieving.

"Hey, I promised to never compare you to food items after you got in that fight with that Frank kid in Jersey.”

Steve gave him a confused look.

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Otter Pops, punk. They’re a type of popsicle. Someone is making a Capsicle joke.”

“How do you know that?”

“I like sweet things. And Tony is always calling you Capsicle. How could I not?"

“It’s just…this isn’t Tony’s style. Who could sneak in here and throw it in knowing it was my laundry?”

Bucky smirked at his friend and waited for realization to strike. He hadn’t seen her do it, but he knew who was cackling to herself at that moment.

Steve suddenly looked back at him and he knew a prank war was brewing.

“Darcy?”

“Darcy.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky enjoyed the new freedom of choice he had when it came to his wardrobe, but sometimes it left him a little overwhelmed as he tried find where to begin. Last time he actively chose what he wore it involved shoulder pads, trousers to his navel, and four-inch-wide ties that ended at his rib cage. Most of the modern additions to Bucky’s wardrobe came through trial and error. Often more error and Bucky was genuinely grateful when Jane decided to notice his clothing dilemma and suggest a viable solution.

 

* * *

 

“It’s probably a good thing you didn’t live through the 70s.”

 “Any particular reason, doc?”

“Polyester and electricity do not two good things for a successful wardrobe make.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not as fashion blind as some might think. It only took me a couple of times to realize that going in and out of my machines all day led to a heck of a lot of static-electricity. Why else would I wear so much flannel?”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say, but the doctor didn’t seem to need his input in the conversation.

“Any synthetic fabric like that must be hell with your arm. Ergo, it’s a good thing you didn’t live through the 70s. Now that I think about it, flannel would probably be a good route for you to go. The fabric is thick enough it shouldn’t work its way between the plates of your arms too easily and if you only get cotton, it’s a neutral material. Yes, you should definitely try some flannel. Ask Darcy where all my shirts come from, she knows. Plus, she always says stuff about flannel and hipsters and lumbersexuals. Whatever those are. But if it’s that popular, you might actually blend more.”

 

* * *

 

With the base of his memories came a lot of Bucky’s old mannerisms. His mother had always compared him to Douglas Fairbanks Jr.: the cocksure fighter with no boundaries. He never realized exactly what she meant until he found his old tactile behavior surfacing in his interactions. Bucky tried to hold back, so as not to scare others until they were as sure of his mental state as he was.

Darcy somehow never seemed to have any qualms about touching him. Once she’d figured out he was okay with touch and wouldn’t spook her hand was on his arm when talking, head on his shoulder during movie nights, or foot in his lap while reading on the couch. Despite the dynamic shift of their friendship, Steve welcomed any sort of contact with Bucky that reminded him of the old days. And Sam did whatever Steve did, just slower, so a couple of weeks later Bucky found himself sharing what Darcy termed as ‘bro-hugs’ and ‘bro-fives’ with the other man in addition to their usual chats.

 

* * *

 

“Dude, did you just rub your pecs with your thumbs?” Sam squawked from the other side of the kitchen they were standing in.

“No,” Bucky countered shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yes, you did. I saw it. You put your hands up and rubbed your thumbs up and down like this,” he said imitating the action that looked like a weird chest stroke.

“I wasn’t rubbing. I was…” Bucky sighed. “I was reaching for my suspenders; suspenders that clearly aren’t there. Old habit.”

“Huh, hadn’t thought about that. You get physical tics coming up like that often?”

“Nah. Or at least, whenever I do someone calls me on it and I stop.”

“You could wear suspenders again. They’re kind of back in now.”

“Eh, it’d be weird. Everyone’d think I was trying to be young and hip whereas I’m really the gramps they’re all copying.”

“All right, you do you. Any other fashion you’re choosing to forego for hipster reasons?"

Bucky shrugged one shoulder.

"Now that I think about it, didn’t you used to always wear hats at a jaunty angle? I swear I’ve seen pictures of you like that.”

Bucky blanched.

“Tell me you’re the only one that noticed.”

“Uh, no, it was Darcy that pointed it out. Why?”

“Shit."

"What?"

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Bucky pulled his hands out of his pockets to shove them into his hair and stare at Sam wide-eyed. "She's never going to let me live this down. If you’re asking it’s only a matter of time before she does. Reaching for suspenders is one thing...”

Sam help up a hand cutting off Bucky's rant.

“Hold up. What are you so worried about? She’ll find out you wore your hat like a douche?”

“No, it’s… Ugh." Bucky dropped his hands by his sides. "Okay, if I find out she hears about this from you, I will find very creative ways to make you regret it. Got it?"

Same nodded looking unimpressed with the threat but he didn't risk comment in case the cagey ex-assassin refused to tell him more.

Bucky sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

"I always wore my hat at an angle because... because my head was lopsided.”

"Lopsided?"

"Lopsided."

 

* * *

Four months after coming back to the tower, Steve broached the topic of Bucky joining the Avengers. Though he was good with the idea, Bucky was surprised at how supportive the rest of the team was. The only naysayer was Tony, and solely because everyone had banned Stark from designing any new uniforms after Falcon’s spandex debacle.

Bucky remembered how glad he was to get his blue Howling Commando uniform after being rescued from that isolation ward. The new uniform made him feel more like the man he was before the war; independent and choosing to follow Steve Rogers into anything. Not the man the army demanded he be or the thing Zola had tried to put him back together to be.

But while Bucky knew it would be important, he didn’t have the same zealous approach to his uniform Steve always had for Captain America. Thankfully Thor was able to help him the most with his redesign. The Asgardian had more experience when it came to battle-wear and a far more subdued taste than those inclined to wear everything red or star-spangled.

 

* * *

 

 “Why the cape? It can’t be easy in close-combat situations. Is it a requirement on Asgard?”

“Nay, not all wear capes. It is more a matter of personal preference.”

“I know yesterday Natasha took you down in training—took you down hard because she got a hold of your cape.”

“Indeed, the Lady Widow is a fierce warrior.”

Bucky recognized avoidance tactics and became suspicious. 

“Yes, yes, cunning and strong. You still haven’t answered my question.”

Thor avoided eye contact and fidgeted: definitely embarrassed.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well, it is more a matter of honor.” The larger man sighed and finally made eye contact again. “Fandral the Dashing once proved in a wager that his cape would aid him in battle rather than act as a hindrance.”

 “When was this wager?”

 “I believe it was nearly 400 years ago in your Midgardian measurement of time.”

There wasn’t any sign that the other man was lying and Bucky took a moment to process. The mighty Thor, who could and had knocked him on his ass, was stuck wearing his mother’s drapes for centuries because of a damn bet. 

“That! That is rich. Oh, man. Does Darcy know?” crowed Bucky, unable to hold in his howl of laughter.

“If she had not already, I’m sure she will now,” the Asgardian replied with a grin.

 

* * *

 

Bucky trained with the team, finished up his design specifications and tweaks on his uniform, and settled into a life and routine he set for himself. It wasn't long before his steady pace was disrupted; he just didn't expect it to come because of an Avengers publicity day. Public appearances, as the name suggested, required dealing with the public. That required being on good behavior. That required a suit. He hadn’t picked out a suit since the 1920s. Pepper found him stewing a week before the event and surprised him with her well-rounded knowledge of current men's suits and forgiveness of his lackluster attitude.

 

* * *

 

“Attendance is mandatory. If you’re going to be working with the team, the public needs to know who you are before you go out. It’s safer for everyone that way,” Pepper explains while typing on the tablet in front of her.

“Are suits mandatory too?”

“Yes.”

Bucky resists a sigh but can’t help what Darcy would call his ‘I don’t like this but I’m going to be manstipated and not use my words’ pout as he looks down at boots.

“Would you like me to help you pick out a suit?”

Bucky looks up at her and finds the redhead gazing at him expectantly, the tablet off and her hands resting atop.

“Darcy is always going on about how you’re epic in your knowledge of _everything_ , but why do you know about men’s suits?”

“Who do you think kept Tony presentable all those years?”

Bucky snorted and Pepper rewarded him with a magnanimous smile.

“Tony may have personal shoppers, but he will put on literally whatever is in his closet. I swear the personal shoppers somehow found out about each other and got into some weird competition. I once found a teal brocade velvet tuxedo.”

“Please tell me he wore it!”

“Do you think I’d let that happen?”

“Damn. He is always giving me crap about zoot suits. I was hoping to return the favor.”

“Did you ever wear them? Zoot suits, I mean.”

“Nah. They were kinda neat, but my ma woulda had my hide if I'd gotten one.”

Bucky chuckled to himself and Pepper watched him silently encouraging him to continue.

“Too many gangsters wore them and once the war started not even Howard Stark ignored fabric rations, preening peacock that he was.”

 

* * *

 

Since coming back to himself, Bucky hadn’t paid too much attention to his hair. Even when Tony teased him about trying to bring back grunge because he’d missed it the first time. The teasing had only increased once Bucky started wearing the flannel Dr. Foster had suggested. But follicle concern didn’t kick in until he damn near fell off a roof on a mission because his new uniform didn’t incorporate goggles and his hair had blown into his eyes.

Immediately after debrief Bucky, still annoyed with his hair, had gone to the kitchen for scissors and almost began hacking it off right there over the kitchen sink. Clint’s voice from the vents stopped him citing concerns about sanitation and confidence in his own stylistic abilities. Bucky never knew how the carnie made it through the vents so fast or why he chose to spy on everyone else like some creep. Nonetheless, he found himself grateful for the archer’s stalkerish proclivities when an hour later he found himself with a new hairstyle that was less scraggly but not trying to be the old Bucky as he'd feared.

 

* * *

 

“You realize, this means that Darcy is gonna have to find a new distraction during movie nights. No more braided crowns for you,” Clint said arranging a surprisingly high-end set of hair-styling tools.

“I’m a bit more concerned with my safety in the field than her entertainment,” Bucky responded wrapping a towel around his shoulders and sitting in a chair.

Clint turned and tapped a comb against his thigh while examining the man sitting in front of him.

“Maybe you should go with a mustache.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“It’d make more of a statement, you know, since you’re losing the one that is currently residing on top of your head.”

“I’ve resisted a mustache so far, even when I had the paragons of facial hair examples like Dum Dum and Falsworth. I think I'm good”

“You just didn’t have the proper appreciation. And I’m sure there’s someone else around that time who you are failing to consider.”

“No. Hell no.”

“The pencil-thin stache is a total character piece.”

“Just cut my damn hair already!”

“Humph, see if I don’t give you a bowl-cut or mullet to make up for it.”

“Go ahead, you’ll be the one explaining it to Pepper before the press meeting next week.”

 

* * *

 

After he’d gone out with the Avengers on a few missions and had no set-backs, Bucky felt comfortable leaving the Tower to do errands on his own. But he still preferred to take someone with him. Sometimes when he needed time to think, he’d try to sweet-talk Natasha into coming. They'd established a comfortable understanding when he chose to forgive her bird-brained boyfriend’s stalking and she helped him use his Russian for something other than killing. It didn't hurt that she scared off overly brave or dumb fans with one of her death glares, thereby saving him the effort of a scowl. She also proved helpful in picking out clothes that would suit him and had the most options for hiding weapons.

 

* * *

 

“What do you think of this shirt?” Natasha called a display, holding up a bright blue button-up.

“It’s fine, why?” Bucky asked turning back to the rack of coats with every hidden pocket he’d ever need.

“Don’t you think it matches Darcy’s eyes?”

Bucky turned back to the redhead slowly. Her face was schooled into a non-expression.

“What are you trying to get at, Nat?”

“What would I have to get at?”

“I am not playing that game. I know that technique.”

“Hmm and what technique am I supposed to be using?”

Bucky crossed his arms and glared.

“Asking leading questions hoping that any denial or affirmation from me will give you insight into what I really think on the matter.”

“So you do think on the matter then,” Nat returned with a half smile.

“Never said I didn’t.”

“Good, I just wanted to make sure,” she said as she set down the shirt.

Bucky had figured honesty was the safest option for all involved but was left at a loss at the woman’s answer.

“What’s your end game?”

“No end-game. I just ship it, that’s all.”

 

* * *

 

That was the problem. He shipped it too. He only knew what the hell 'shipping' was because he couldn’t resist being around Darcy. But Bucky also spent enough time around Steve to be able to work up a good guilt trip for himself—how he shouldn’t want her when he was still screwed up, still capable of dampening her brightness. He shouldn’t want to hear whatever new nickname she'd made up for him that day. To see what pranks she’d come up with to get back at Clint, Tony, or Steve. To see her eyes laugh at him when he admired whatever new outfit she came back in after going out with Pepper. To see just where their flirty back-and-forth might go if he actually pushed for more. To admit that while she hadn’t saved him, she sure as hell made him grateful his dumb-ass friend had.

Bucky definitely wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. I have so many headcanons going in my head after this. Like how Howard Stark and Bucky had this weird dynamic because they both were friends with Steve, but Howard had no need for Bucky and Bucky felt kind of threatened by Howard so they both just ragged on each other all the time. Or maybe that's just me?


	5. Pride and Polyester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two wardrobes have evolved but can they bring two idiots together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS!! It's done!! I was not expecting all this to happen but Bucky seemed intent on embarrassing himself and then the rest of the team insisted on getting involved. It got a little cracky, but, you know, all is fair in love and fashion!
> 
>  

Two days after his shopping trip with Natasha, Bucky lifted weights alone in the gym. The workout had long since devolved into a masochistic game of ‘she loves me, she loves me not,’ but instead each press of the bar and clink of the weights begged the question, ‘ask her out, don’t ask her out’. In the past hour instead of an answer all he’d gotten was one soaked set of workout clothes and a certainty that he was going to be sore despite his genetic enhancements.

Bucky finally paused to catch both his breath and thoughts as he lay on the bench press weight bench.

He owed Darcy for last week. She had trained Dum-E to put heavy-duty My Little Pony bumper stickers on the back of his metal arm where he couldn’t reach them without help. He figured he had three options: escalate the prank war, which would lead to further close-quarters interaction and a chance that more could happen; concede and take the consequences but play it safe; or step up and change the tone of their recent back-and-forth altogether. Back in the day he would have charged in, balls to the wall, full speed ahead. But this was different. Darcy was different. And not just because there was a house full of murderously capable people who would make him regret it if he ever messed up.

“Dude. Stop being a chicken shit and do something already,” came a voice from the vent above him.

“Says the creep hiding in the vents.”

“I’m not hiding. I’m surveilling,” Clint argued. 

“That is not a thing.”

“It is. In fact, my surveilling tells me you’ll get a chance to man up pretty soon.”

“What?”

Before the archer could answer, the gym door opened and Bucky glanced over to see Darcy walk in. He couldn’t help but watch her as she came towards him, legs clad in tight jeans and flowing top paired with his favorite cardigan—the green one that reminded him of calm, rainy forests and felt as soft as a cloud.  Bucky realized he was staring and lifted the weight bar above him off the supports to focus, or at least try to focus, on something other than how her hips swayed as she moved towards him.

Darcy took her time and finally came to rest her hip and shoulder against the frame to the left of his head. She clasped her hands over her stomach and peered down at him, half of her mouth turned down in a frown.

“I know you’re trying to avoid me, Mr. Deflectorman.”

He continued to raise and lower the weight bar and said nothing.

“Avoiding me does not mean the quality reports are going to go away, though.”

Bucky sighed and set the bar back on its supports with a clank; he left his hands on the bar and looked up at her face.

“I’m not avoiding you. I already did ‘em.”

“And I already told you that ‘still alive’ is not a good enough review of the new armor.  The science grunts are delicate creatures that require constant nourishment and reaffirmation”

Bucky snorted and lifted the bar to begin another set.

“Come on Buck-a-roo, affirm a little.”

Bucky grinned as he paused and held the bar low above his chest.

“Nothing little about my affirmations, muffin.”

She got the usual dopey grin whenever he used slang from his time. He’d tried to remember every term of endearment or cheesy line he could in the last few weeks to see that smile. But then her smile shifted and she slid her gaze slowly over his body spread on the bench and leaned over him, bringing her face closer to his.

“I don’t know, Buck.” She murmured. “You hiding something in those sweats that I don’t know about?”

Her perfume drifted down to him, light and zingy, and her eyes held his as she smirked.

Suddenly he felt like mjolnir was on his chest and he lost what breath he had. The bar wasn’t anywhere near his max weight. But he was so damn distracted with the woman above him that his arm’s servos fully engaged and he felt the plates shifting, forcing the weight back up so he could return it to the supports.

Darcy straightened to make room for the bar, smirk in place, until her head suddenly jerked back down, her hair stuck between the plates of his arm.

“Ow. Shit. Ow!”

Bucky tried to sit up, but felt his arm pull back where it was connected to her hair. His efforts only succeeded in pulling her head into the weight bar and eliciting another curse.

“Sorry, doll. Sorry! Hold on.” He slid back under the bar head first, keeping his arm stationary. He stood, holding his left arm up and still, and wrapped his right arm around Darcy to keep her from pulling back and yanking her hair. Again.

“New rule: a three-foot minimum distance must be maintained at all times in the weight room.”

“I’m sorry, really, I—“

She laughed and made eye contact.

“I know. Breathe, Bucky.” She rested her right hand on his rib cage. He tried to take her advice but didn’t succeed.

She saw the strain on his face and laughed.

“It’s okay, really. But can you get your robo appendage to release me?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky let out a woosh of air. “Just a sec.”

He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to ignore the feel of Darcy pressed up against him. After a few more seconds his tension began to subside and the plates of the arm shifted and released Darcy’s hair.

“Phew,” she exclaimed as she eased away.

Bucky clenched his right hand to keep from pulling her back and lowered his arm.

“I have a meeting with Pepper in like an hour didn’t want to have to go looking like I’d been to a Sixteen Candles party.”

“Huh?”

“YES!” Darcy stepped even farther away as she raised both hands and victoriously shook her fists. “I now have an excuse to veto The Pick-Up Artist for Molly Ringwald Movie Night. I really don’t know why Tony likes it so much.”

Her words made no sense. Bucky didn't know if the adrenaline was messing with his comprehension or if there was a reference he didn't get. 

“Uh huh, sure.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear away the last of the adrenaline fog, and noticed that she was a good three feet away now. She was already holding true to her earlier proclamation. He cursed Nat. He wouldn’t have noticed that shift before. Well, he would have noticed, but it wouldn’t have bothered him so much.

“Okay, now that my follicles have been liberated I’m going to go finish putting the paperwork fear into Thor over pop-tart requisitions and you will go redo those quality reports, right?”

Bucky clenched both hands and tried to concentrate. Quality reports. Redo the reports.

“Uh, right.”

“See, avoiding is no good." She paused and got a Cheshire grin. "I always win."

He snorted, but then she stepped closer.

"And no need to try and distract me with surprisingly vicious attack hugs. All you had to do was ask.”

Bucky found his arms full of Darcy once more; her arms around his torso, head tucked under his chin. He’d no sooner returned the hug than she gave his ribs one big squeeze and was out of the gym before he had a chance to respond.

He stared for a second then sat on the floor and rested his head against the bench press frame behind him.

“Smooth,” called a voice from the vent.

 

* * *

 

“I swear you guys, it was worse than watching Tony apologize to Ororo and Jean after the trust fall fiasco,” Clint laughed as he balanced his chair on two legs, taking a swig of beer.

“Hey, we agreed never to talk about that. I’m still scarred.”

“Whatever, Tony.”

Thor cleared his throat and the group’s eyes shifted to him.

“My friends, I believe the situation is not as dire as you suppose. I have seen the two in question many times courting effectively. I see it only as a matter of time before we are assured of their union.”

“Yes, dear,” Jane said patting his arm. “They are very good at flirting, but we don’t have the same timeline as an Asgardian might. We’re talking about mortals here.”

Several raised glasses and grumbles of agreement followed her statement.

“Right, okay. What have we got to go with?” Sam asked rubbing his hands together.

“Hasn’t he taken to calling her ducky?” suggested Bruce.

“He’s using their celebrity couple name as a term of endearment?” Tony cackled.

“Shut up, Tony,” murmured Pepper.

“Wait,” Steve cut in.  “He called her ducky?”

“Yeah, is that a big deal? Doesn’t it just mean sweetheart?” Clint asked as he dropped his chair back onto all four legs.

“Yeah. But that’s what his pop used to call his ma.”

Pepper, Sam, and Jane let out quiet ‘awws’ and most of the other members around the table smiled.

“Okay, enough fluff," Tony demanded setting down his scotch and leaning forward. "We need to figure out how to get these two kids together." He paused, dramatically tapping at his facial hair.

"Actually, my money is on Lewis for being the first to grow a pair and make a move.”

“Stark, I don’t think that’s any way to—“

“Sorry, Steve,” Sam chimed in. “I’m with Tony on this one. Your boy’s got a serious case of performance anxiety.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t lead to performance issues—“

“Stark!” warned Steve.

Tony let out a quiet oomph, put a hand to his ribs, and glared at Pepper who hadn’t seemed to move as she sat next to him.

“You’ve been training with Nat again, haven’t you?”

“Of course, dear. She knows all the good ways to keep you in line.”

Tony began to grin wickedly but Bruce cut him off before the secret confab could be completely derailed.

“I say Bucky’ll figure it out.”

“Care to put some money on it, Dr. Banner?” asked Jane with a smile.

“My money’s on Darcy, and the fact that Barnes totally screws it up,” called Clint.

As the rest of the team began placing their bets, Natasha sat quietly.

 

* * *

 

Darcy lounged in the awesome rolly chair in Bruce’s lab as the fluffy scientist tinkered with the display in front of him. She had spent the first half hour in his lab staging dramatic rowboat scenes in said chair, but she settled down when he threatened to kick her out unless she stopped channeling Tony.  Now she stared at the ceiling, hands on her stomach, feet crossed on the lowest lab desk, sporadically pulling herself towards the desk, then pushing back away once more.

Bucky had been avoiding her and she knew it wasn’t because of paperwork like Clint and Sam at the moment. No, the last week was genuinely awkward and it wasn’t just her failed attempt at a flirty weight-room spotting session to blame. She had possibly ogled him a bit more than usual. But no man should make flannel actually look good, especially when he insisted on rolling up the sleeves. Darcy found herself incredibly distracted by the contrast of one muscular forearm and one metal put on display with that move.

But Bucky’s avoidance had to do with more than last week or her lecherous looks. Hell he gave her his fair share of ogling before. Nevertheless, there had definitely been a new undercurrent to their flirting recently but then he seemed to get cold feet. Darcy sighed. She figured she’d have to put on her big girl panties and deal with it if he wasn’t going to. But she wasn’t ready to right at that moment, hence hiding away in Bruce’s lab.

Instead of dealing or obsessing Darcy tried to focus on other things. Like the bridal shower she had to go to in four hours. Her high-school friend Maggie had moved away after their junior year, but they’d kept in touch and now that both women were back in the same city they had spent time getting right back to their usual nerdy relationship. Maggie was getting married in a month and, being obsessed with all things British and vintage, had of course insisted her bridal shower be themed: high-tea and 50s dress. Darcy had ordered the perfect dress from a UK store she’d discovered in London, but the package was supposed to get there days before and hadn't arrived. She sighed as she re-planned her outfit around a dress that would work for the most part, but was nowhere near as good as the other would've been.

As she began to mull over shoe options, the lab door swished open.

“Hey Darce, I just found this with some stuff I had delivered a while ago. Not sure how long it’s been there.”

Darcy turned to look at the man that walked in. There he was. Stupid James Buchanan Barnes in all his adorable flannel glory; stupid hot face; stupid gorgeous mussed-up hair; stupid cocky strut.  Darcy looked back up at the ceiling.

“What is it?”

“Don’t know. Something of yours from the UK.”

Bucky had paused about ten feet away and she looked back at him; looked past the rolled-up shirt sleeve to the parcel he held up in his right hand. Her delivery. From the UK. He had her dress. It arrived!

She threw her feet to the floor and leaped at him, nearly tackling him before he caught her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his torso and squeezed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He chuckled and settled his hands under her upper thighs to support her.

Maybe it was the excitement. Maybe it was the amount of contact after he’d been avoiding her. Maybe it was simply because she’d wanted to for months. Darcy wasn’t sure what exactly to attribute it to, but before she could think about it, she leaned back, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him. It was more exuberant demonstration than romantic interlude, but she didn’t miss how he froze—and then did nothing.

Darcy looked into his face but couldn’t make sense of his facial expression. She sighed.

“Okay, points for catching me. But that…that was. You didn’t… Ugh. Look. We clearly are going to talk about this. But I ain’t got time for that right now. I’m going to go get dolled up and eat scones and drink tea. You’re going to go off and do your manpain thing and we'll talk about this later. Okay?”

Bucky slowly nodded, eyes still wide.

“Okay. You can set me down now.”

He quickly let go of her legs and she slid down to the ground.

Darcy took her parcel from him and walked out of the lab without a backward glance. She didn’t hear Bruce sigh as he attached a $20 bill to a hook that had been lowered from the vent above.

 

* * *

 

“Ms. Romanova, I feel I should tell you that Sergeant Barnes has asked for your location and is headed your way.”

“Thank you, Jarvis. Where is he coming from?”

“Dr. Banner’s lab. I believe he just delivered something to Ms. Lewis.”

Natasha smirked at the circumspect tone of the AI. The perfect accomplice.

“Wonderful. Would you please tell Steve and Sam we’ll be doing another dance lesson tonight in the common area?”

“Certainly, Ms. Romanova.”

Natasha went back to her magazine and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard quiet steps coming towards the dining room where she sat.

“You’ve been meddling, woman.”

She raised her head and saw Bucky leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, stern expression in place.

Natasha smiled and he tensed.

“You’re not going to deny it?”

“Why should I? I was successful or else you wouldn’t have that look on her face.”

“And what look is that.”

“Darcy would call it ‘manstipated’, I call it spineless.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” She raised an eyebrow.

Bucky snorted and continued to glare at her.

“She kissed me,” he muttered almost to himself after another minute.

“And you screwed it up.”

“I did nothing! How could I screw it up?”

Natasha silently went back to the pages in front of her.

He sighed, straightened from the doorway, and made his way over to slump in a chair across from her.

“I screwed it up.”

“I’m not surprised.”

They both sat, the quiet turning of pages the only sound between them.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?”

He looked up at her sharply and her lips screwed into a wry grin.

“In that case, I will give you a pass on this one.”

Bucky made a noise about to argue but she cut him off.

“I’m not going to give you a shovel talk. That’s Jane’s right. But know that if you don’t fix this and quick, I will gladly replace you in my efforts. I hear Kevin in accounting loves Babylon 5 and you know how Darcy likes that show.”

“Ugh. Kevin is a dick.”

“Then stop being yet another dick and give her a better option.”

Bucky grunted and stared down at his hands for a couple of minutes before nodding once and looking back up at her.

“Are you…reading Cat Fancy?”

 

* * *

 

Bucky had had enough time to think. He’d been stupid. He knew that. He just didn’t know how to fix the situation and he couldn’t find Steve. Bucky had at first thought Steve would tell him to not risk it with Darcy, but the punk had been surprisingly supportive. Now, when Bucky actually wanted more input, the jerk was nowhere to be found.

“Hey Jarvis, where’s Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is in the common area currently with Ms. Lewis, Mr. Wilson, and Ms. Romanova.”

“Those four? Together? What’s going on.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter, sir.”

“Not at lib… should I be worried?”

“I don’t believe so, sir.”

Bucky groaned and figured it would be easiest to investigate himself than try and get information out of the contrary AI.

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t the sound of Glenn Miller's band assaulting him as soon as the elevator doors opened. Farther inside the common room he spotted two dancing couples. A cursory glance showed one was Natasha guiding a surprisingly uncomfortable Steve through some sort of dance step. But Bucky’s attention was drawn to the other duo.

Sam was leading Darcy through steps that he recognized and the pair was succeeding without too much mishap. But that wasn’t why he stared.

He noticed her discarded shoes, gloves, and his favorite cardigan in a pile to the side of the makeshift dance floor. But Darcy was something else. She wore some floral gown fitted to her waist and then shaped with petticoats. Bucky never thought he'd regret missing out on women’s fashions, but a whole new world was opened to him. The rustle of the petticoat, the sway of the fabric, the seam of the stockings Darcy still wore disappearing up the back of her legs; it was all getting to him. Or maybe it was the dame underneath it all.

But she danced with Sam when it should be him. Bucky'd never had an issue with Sam before. Things might change if he kept dancing with his girl.

Bucky waited until the end of the song that was playing before he called out.

“You know, kitten, you need a much better partner to show off your dress properly.”

Darcy stepped away from Sam and faced Bucky with her hands on her hips, her smile more hesitant than a moment before. He took it as a hopeful sign that she was smiling at all after his earlier blunder.

“You offering?”

Bucky tucked his hands into his pockets and grinned, tilting his head back to look at her.

“Sure thing, ducky.”

Darcy laughed and held a hand out to him.

“Then you better get over here!”

He didn’t hesitate.

 

* * *

 

“So does this mean I can threaten him now?”

Darcy took a moment to process who Jane could be talking about. She finally remembered they had last been talking about Bucky teaching Darcy the waltz. But that had been a full ten minutes before and Jane had been buried in a science journal for the last five minutes. Darcy put down her book and turned to look at Jane on the other end of the couch.

“Why do you want to threaten Bucky?” Darcy asked slowly.

“Well, you’ve been ‘going steady’ for, what, four weeks now?” Jane leaned toward Darcy. “Is it still too soon?”

“I repeat, why are you threatening him?”

“If he screws up again, he needs to know he’ll be held responsible.”

“Janey, Jane, Jane. You know I love you and have all faith in you, but other than breaking physics and posing danger to the entire universe, which is not acceptable, what were you going to threaten him with?”

“Why can’t I just threaten to kill him with my brain?”

“Oh, honey. You’ve been watching Firefly without me again, haven’t you? You know it makes you feistier than usual.”

“See!” Jane yelled as she jumped up from the couch, journal falling to the ground, “This is why he needs to be threatened! He stole the Kaylee to my River!”

“Yes, criminal indeed,” Darcy soothed as she pushed Jane back down to the cushions. “When does Thor get back?”

Jane sighed and slouched till her chin rested on her chest.

“A week. I swear I’m not some weak female that can’t function without her man…but I miss him.”

“I know, believe me, I know. How about we plan a double date?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get Bucky back into that suit Pepper picked out for him. Rawr.”

Jane chuckled and sat up.

“She found a great dress jacket for Thor, too!”

“Woman is amazing. God bless Pepper Potts!”

“Here, here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the dress I'm picturing Darcy in.
> 
> http://www.lindybop.co.uk/dresses-c1/ellen-fabulous-floral-print-50s-fit-n-flare-swing-rockabilly-dress-p1016

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, but remember, I'm new at this!
> 
> I'm also new at tumblr, but I'm awww-brain-no if you wanna come by!


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